


do you remember?

by sebstanau



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Protective Andrew Minyard, i wrote this in like 2 hours dont judge me, yes i repeat one of the parts on purpose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 02:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10504248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebstanau/pseuds/sebstanau
Summary: The words ‘Don’t look back. Don’t slow down. Don’t trust anyone.” in her harsh whisper, afraid that someone might overhear although they were alone on that beach for miles, repeating in his head over and over and over and over and over.or neil is missing his mom and he's already burnt through an entire pack of cigarettes trying to remember her





	

**Author's Note:**

> i should've been updating my stucky fic or working on my stucky big bang but instead i wrote something for a completely different fandom rip
> 
> this has panic attacks and mentions neil burning his mom in the car and everything like this. its not super detailed or explicit or anything and has a kinda happy ending but still be warned just in case

Neil Josten is on the rooftop, a cigarette in between his index and middle finger, hands frozen cold from the harsh winter air. It’s one of those days, the ones where he can’t bring himself to inhale the carcinogenic smoke the cigarette is burning off.

One of the days where he can’t help but miss his mom, wants to smell her distinct aroma, but can’t bring himself to inhale it. Inhale her. The words ‘ _Don’t look back. Don’t slow down. Don’t trust anyone.”_ in her harsh whisper, afraid that someone might overhear although they were alone on that beach for miles, repeating in his head over and over and over and over and over.

His hands are so cold, ice frozen in his veins, but every time he breathes in the thick smoke he suddenly feels like he’s sweating and his fingers are burning from the cigarette.

He's actually accidentally let five cigarettes burn his finger for the past, well, he doesn’t know what time.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, doesn’t know if Andrew or Kevin or Nicky or _anyone_ has tried looking for him because his phone is off and tucked into his pocket.

He stubs out the cigarette against the ledge that his legs are currently swaying off of. He takes comfort in the minuscule ashes burning slightly against the stone ridge before disappearing in the wind. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and takes a deep breath before turning it on.

As soon as it turns on, he is spammed with a million notifications. He can’t help his heart that starts to pound out of his chest, beating so much blood he thinks his veins might break open. He can’t help but think _“They found me.”_ His brain automatically is jumping to his father and his people and he feels sick.

He knows it’s bullshit, his father’s _dead_ for fucks sake. He even watched his body drop to the fucking ground. But the only thing that flashes through his head is Lola’s texts. _49, 24, 12, 8. 0._ His chest is heaving and for a second he’s no longer Neil Josten. He’s Nathaniel Wesninski again, his old self coming back to haunt him.

No matter how often he tried to run away, or even thought about escaping he knows that he will always be followed by the ghost of his past. He could move to France, fucking Russia, Canada, even _Norway_ , but he won’t ever be able to fully run away.

He panics, because that’s all he can do. Although he shut his phone off as soon as the notifications started flooding through, he can see his reflection against the smooth, black, surface of the phone and he sees Nathan’s eyes staring straight back at him.

He can’t look away from the icy coldness of his eyes, like an ocean that’s been frozen over. He’s staring at the phone, staring at himself, and he can’t fucking _breathe_.

Somewhere dark, in the distant back of his brain, a voice whispers, _“At least you are with your mother and father again.”_

He can still sense the lingering smell of smoke in the air around him, and sees his father staring back at him. He chest tightens even more.

He can feel his pulse beating all the way down in his fucking gut and it makes him nauseous.

He’s still staring at his phone.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been there, doesn’t know if Andrew or Kevin or Nicky or anyone has tried looking for him, doesn’t even know now if the phone is dead or off. He doesn’t want to see.

He feels a hand on the back of his neck, gentle but stern. It makes him flinch. He’s frozen in place until he hears a familiar voice mumbling, “Your name is Neil Josten. Nathan Wesninski is dead. Nathaniel Wesninski is dead. You play stickball with a bunch of idiots. You’re not alright but that’s okay.”

Neil can feel his lungs give him space, open up enough to let in breathe in a long breath of air. When he looks up the sky is dark and there is a crushed phone in his hands. He doesn’t know how it happened and can’t stomach the thought that he might’ve been strong enough to crush a phone.

Andrew has removed his hand off of Neil’s neck and is instead sitting down next to him on the ledge. He feels a wave of concern flood his entire system, although he knows he shouldn’t and that Andrew can handle himself.

“I'm so-,” He begins to say before cutting himself off. “I’m, I.” He stutters, trying to figure out what to say but he _can’t_.

His throat is sore, voice is hoarse, and he’s certain it’s the fact that he spent the day burning an entire pack of cigarettes and breathing it in. He lets out a long sigh.

Andrew stares at him. At first glance, it might seem like he’s disinterested, but Neil can spot the slightest glimmer of worry in his hazel eyes. Andrew opens his hand, gesturing for Neil to hand him a cigarette, and Neil grimaces before handing over the empty pack.

He watches Andrew open the pack, watches him furrow his brows and can see the exact moment realization dawns across his face. It’s subtle, like everything about Andrew, but _enough_.

He braces himself for Andrew’s expression, because although he knows Andrew, and Andrew knows him, Andrew has never known him like _this._ He’s seen everything from Neil, he’s seen the aftermath of Evermore, of Lola, of Baltimore, but surprisingly the one thing he’s never seen are the days where he longs for his mom get this bad.

Neil has never seen a day like this before either. He suspects that the overwhelming pressure of his own reflection staring back at him is the culprit.

Andrew stares at him, and if Neil was in the right mindset he would reply with a snarky, _“Staring.”_ But he’s not.

“Yes or no?”

It’s quiet, but stern. Subtle, but _there_. It’s Andrew.

Neil nods, but that’s not enough for his boyfriend. “I need an answer, Josten.”

“Yes.” Neil replies, _whispers._ He can barely hear himself, but Andrew can and that’s all that really matters to Neil.

Andrew moves closer to Neil and he can feel his warm breath against his lips. They’re so close but their lips aren’t touching. Neil moves closer, close enough for their lips to only touch at the very edge. He’s waiting for Andrew to push him over the edge like he’s always promised.

It doesn’t take long, barely a second, before Andrew completely closes the gap between the two boys. It’s a slow kiss, as soft as an angel’s touch. Before he knows it, it’s over, but Neil doesn’t mind.

He already feels lighter.

Then Andrew is getting up and when Neil turns to gaze at him, he’s looking expectantly at him. Neil follows suit and groggily gets up. He wobbles a little when he first stands, his legs sore from sitting in the same spot for hours.

Andrew is right by his side, lending Neil support by letting him lean on him. He has a look in his eyes which says, _“Don’t talk about this.”_

Neil can no longer feel the sand from the beach in his lungs. He can no longer taste the lighter fuel which burnt his mother’s dead corpse in their beat-up, broken-down car.

Neil is no longer Nathaniel.

It’s a good feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos, bookmarks, and comments are appreciated !!


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